They say it's silly to blame ourselves for all the bad things in the world. But when someone tells a child that is shall make no difference. Children are the ones who need protection and when things go wrong, naturally they blame themselves. Sometimes that doesn't fade and it's our inner child who will help us fight our inner demons.
Luca’s POV.
My eyes open in darkness. I can’t see anything but black. No sound, no nothing. Just what I presume is a dark black room. It makes me wonder if this is what death is. Not that I ever believed in heaven, but I did wonder about hell. I was obviously wrong about that. It’s hard to walk, but I manage to walk a bit closer to what I hope is the edge. Coming closer, I hear a noise. Like that of a heart monitor going flat. I reach what feels like a wall and the voices start. They’re shouting at someone or something muttering “he’s flat lined.” The words mean very little to me. I can only hope that it’s me they’re talking about.
I stumble across a door in the wall. It feels heavy. Almost like a metal or iron door. I fiddle around with the nob until it pushes open. From a black room I walk into a white room. This time it’s light. I can see everything as clear as day. It’s eerie. The noise is clearer here. I can feel them move around the body on the operating table, the gushes of air as they scramble around to save that person. I can’t block them or the sound out. So I stop trying. I listen intently to the words being shouted, several medical terms all of which I know. Blood loss seems to be the one they are concerned with. It’s not looking good for whoever it is.
“Why am I this useless? I can’t even figure out where I am.” I mutter to myself, trying to figure it out why I’m here.
“Can’t I even kill myself properly?” I ask no one in particular. “Apparently not. I can’t even make things better for them. Something has to save me from death. Why can’t I do anything right?”
“Hi,” a quiet voice says behind me.
I turn around and face a small boy. He looks familiar. Long, silky black hair and deep brown eyes. The boy is small, but obviously taller than most boys his age. The features are that of a five year old, yet he looks a lot older because of his height. Olive skin and a slim body is not as obvious unless you are looking for those things. His hair and eyes stand out more. My breath catches when his eyes meet mine. All I can see is fear and pain. He’s so small, it’s frightening to think of a boy so young feeling so bad about all of that. I hold out my hand to him and he clasps it between his. There’s no smile though, just a small quirk of the lips that shows he knows what I’m thinking. I feel incredibly strange seeing this boy.
“Why do you hate me?” He whispers shyly. Taken aback I just stare at those intense brown eyes. Failing to compose my sheer and utter shock at the words spoken to me.
“Why would you think I hate you? We’ve just met,” I tell the boy in hopes of getting some more information out of him.
“You hate me. You say it all the time. I’ve heard you say you hate me. Why?” Realisation hits me like a slap in the face. I stare down at the small boy. Me. I don’t remember ever being that small, but apparently I was at one time. Those hurt eyes lock on mine, waiting for an answer.
“You’ll understand when you’re older. I won’t say it again while you’re here.”
“I’m always here, though. I am you after all. I hear those things every time you say ‘em.” His voice is so small, it’s almost painful listening to it. Memories of my voice, high pitched and begging flash through my mind. I try to push them back. I don’t want those memories there. It’s painful to even think of those memories being around the little boy in front of me. The fact he’s me makes no difference, I have the urge to protect him from the bad things.
I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. “It’s fine. Just wanted to know why. I guess I’ll find out one day, it’s fine.” He looks hurt, heartbreakingly so. How do I not remember being that lovely?
“I’m sorry I upset you. I never wanted to hurt anyone. That’s why I do what I do. It’ll lessen the pain eventually. They’ve all suffered so much already, No point in giving them fall hope and all that other stuff. You know?” I don’t expect an answer, not really.
“Why do you think you hurt them? Do they say that to you?” His eyes look like he wants to say so much more, and yet, he doesn’t. Instead he stands there and watches as I contemplate what I’m going to say. Of course, he knows they haven’t said anything like that to me. But it doesn’t mean it’s not true. All I seem to cause them is pain and they never complain about it. Not even once. Sometimes I think it would make things easier if they hated me. They have every right to want me gone, to want me dead or tortured somewhere. My family, though, are too nice to do something like that. None of them have the power to hurt others because they’re angry or mad.
“Of course they don’t. But I’ve hurt them so much, they have suffered through more than their fair share of hardship. If I can end that by dying then it’s the least I can do, so they can go and live happy lives without me ruining it for them. You don’t even know the things that happened.”
His eyes fill with something. It’s not quite sadness, but not something far off either. “I know the things he does… At night, when I’m in bed. Maybe you’ve forgot, but not me. He does things most nights. I know what happened because it happens most nights.”
The way he speaks… It’s like talking to someone older and I struggle to remember if that’s how I talked when I was that age. He’s wise. That’s one thing I know. But I always was. People tell me that I have always been smarter and more knowledgeable than most kids or adults even. Standing here, speaking to the younger version of myself is testament to that fact. He knows so much and speaks so clearly it’s hard to imagine not being like that.
“I don’t really remember when it started or what it started as. All I know is it happened, and I can’t forget that. No matter how hard I try to.” It’s not exactly true, though. Memories flash in my head, some vivid and almost realistic, others dreamlike, but all still very much happened.
“I think you need to see some things. Will you come with me?” He asks, holding out his small hand for me to take. I clasp mine with his and he pulls me along, a small path opens up in front of us and we walk down it. After a couple of minutes, I recognise the road as the one our farm was situated on. Sure enough, looking up I see the farm house and our old land. It has that real Texan smell it always had when I was growing up. The greenery is still beautiful, and it still smells like horse manure. It definitely brings a lot back.
“I remember this place,” I say to him. He smiles shyly, almost frightened. I know the feeling. Coming back here was never going to be easy, and now, I have so much to face. I can actually remember the taste of fear in the air. There was just something about this place. I associated it with death. Not because someone died, but simply because I died here. Not literally, but in a lot of ways this farm sucked my soul out of my body, leaving me the shell I am today. Sometimes I wonder if this place is to blame for most of my issues. But then I remember who I am.
“I’ve always been alone… Mamma loves me, D and Ari too, but they don’t know how much it hurts… He scares me,” the last part is said on a whisper. I look at him, his eyes filling with tears.
“He still scares me too. Really scares me.” I breathe in, taking as much as I can get to clear my head. “I just want to curl in a ball and die most of the time. I hate living like this. I hate living.”
He stops in front of me and frowns. “You don’t like me. I get that, you want me dead. But what I don’t get is what I did to you. What have I ever done to you?” His voice is so small, so afraid, it hits me in the gut. Looking at this younger version of me is harder than I could have imagined it being. I don’t know why, though. He’s me and I hate myself, but that me was just a kid. He’s innocent and I don’t know why he keeps saying I hate him.
“You blame me for what happened. I would too. I get that you hate me. So please, stop feeling guilty. It’s okay.” I grab his arm and pull him closer to me, crouching down to him. “Why do you think I blame you and how can you talk like that? You’re five for Christ sake, not fifty. You should not be this smart.” I feel frustrated with him. But it’s not his fault.
“You blame me for all this,” he says simply. “Now, come on.” He takes my hand and pulls me along. We walk closer to the house. Looking around the farm I grew up on is strange. It makes me feel so small here. I’m with a small child and I’m the one who’s scared? It’s not a good sign.
“Why are we were?” I ask him, trying to find out the purpose for all this. It makes no real sense. He doesn’t answer instead he pulls me harder and I follow willingly.
“Michael, we need to talk.” I hear mamma’s voice when we stop outside the kitchen door. The younger me pulls me through, not needing to open the door. For a moment, I worry about being seen, but soon realise there is no need to worry. They can’t see us or hear us, so we are safe. For now, that is. Looking at mamma, I realise it she’s a lot younger and I don’t have a memory of her looking that young, so I take it that I must have been two or three at the time.
He looks up at her, a scowl marring his face. “What do you want to talk about now? Let me guess, your little princess is having problems again. Well boo-fucking-hoo. It’s about time he learned to stand up for himself and left that girly phase behind.”
“Don’t talk about him that way, he’s our son and I love him, so should you.” Mamma sounds like she’s had this argument a million times before. He looks annoyed, making a face at her before saying something under his breath. “Listen to me you stupid bastard, you don’t get to talk about him that way. You’ve never acted like this before. Why start now?”
“Because I’m sick ‘n tired of that boy embarrassing me in front of people! He acts more girly than Aria did when she was two. It’s not fuckin’ right!” He shouts at her, making mamma flinch away. Anger rises in me. He’s hurting her. Not physically, but mentally. He’s hurting my mamma.
“Lower your voice, Michael,” she hisses, looking out the door to see if the coast is clear. Luckily, no one is standing there. She breathes a sigh of relief and turns back to face him.
His face reddens. “Don’t tell me to lower my voice in my fuckin house. You’re just the woman, that’s nothing compared to what I am. You can’t live without me you fuckin bitch.” His voice drops dangerously low, making me shiver.
Why didn’t I know he spoke to her like this? I should have known he would take it out on them. He’s always hated me. Michael. Michael, was never anything more to me than a monster in my nightmares, but he should never have touched them. But he did… He’s hurting mamma every day. Is it his fault?
“He was always scary. I just never knew he hated everyone, not just me. But he hated everyone. Didn’t he?” The small voice startles me. I look down at him and he shrugs. “You know, we never saw him as an ass, but that’s because he hid it well. Mamma and Dante got what we got, just not the physical stuff. Aria was always his princess, so he loved her like he never loved us.”
“I still deserved it, though.”
He sighs and motions me forward. I walk up the stairs, and turn the corner to my old bedroom. Stopping outside the door, I turn to see if he’s behind me. With an encouraging smile from myself, I open the door and step into the darkness. I see a tiny me lying on the bed, shaking, tears rolling down soft cheeks. It’s night time, now, and the child in the bed is about four years old. The door makes a creaking noise as he opens it. The noise seems louder at night. It always did.
I don’t remember any of this. None of it. Why? I can remember it from the age of six, but no earlier. Did he do this to me as a baby? Would anyone be that sick? A baby… Do they ruin lives?
“Someone’s been a very naughty boy,” he snickers, stalking over to the bed. The child whimpers silently.
I watch the horror play out in front of me. He takes away the bedclothes, quietly and easily. He breezes through removing the boys clothes, making it look like a normal thing. He shoves something into the boys mouth and removes his clothes. Making as little noise as possible, he pulls the child out of the bed and allows him to fall on the floor. Smirking down when the child tries to clutch his back. I hear a growl. It comes from his chest. The boy cries, making noise. For that, he gets a slap in the face. Michael’s length grows hard when the boy falls back against the floor. He takes his time, eyes roaming over the small body. Harsh whispers are carried through the room. They bring back memories. Ones I have fought hard to get rid of.
“I think someone’s going like what I do to them, don’t you? Daddy’s little boy is going to come so hard he passes out. Gonna make daddy so hard.” The words cause bile to rise in my throat. I look away when he slams into the boy’s body, making sure he feels it. Every thrust is sharp. Every movement precise. Watching it is like being back there. Back in a time I have tried to escape. But you never really escape the past, do you? It’s always there. Like this moment. You will always find yourself watching the painful memories of your past and knowing there is nothing left to do.
“We need to move on, now,” I tell the boy beside me. He doesn’t hear me, though, he’s too busy watching them. Tears fall freely from his eyes, making it hard to look at him. He’s broken, too. I can see it now.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “We have more to see.”
With that he grabs my hand and pulls me to the door. We stand through it and walk down the hall. Every footstep is painful. A memory of some past life. He takes me downstairs and onto the landing. I hear their frightful shouts before I see them. Mamma and Aria are standing by the doorway, crying and sobbing while Dante is trying to stem my bleeding. Michael’s lying on the floor, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. A wave of guilt washes through me. Seeing the distress the event is causing them makes me stop for a minute.
“They look sad…” He says from beside me, my younger self sees the goodness, I see the pain. “You should give me a bit more credit. They look sad at the thought of losing me, not upset that I’m not dead. So, why do you think they would be better off? Do they look it to you?” He pulls me in and I can hear them, the sobs, the cries, the pleas. I can hear them all.
Dante’s frantic movements are testament to the fact he’s scared shitless. He grabs and pulls at things, tightening the cloth around my wrists, cringing at the sight of the blood oozing from my open wounds. I crouch down beside them and brush some of the sweat off his brow. Mamma stands closer, kneeling beside my limp body on the floor. Her eyes roam over the damage. She shivers when I place a ghostly kiss on her cheek. For comfort, I tell myself. Not as a sign I’m going to start living. I can’t do that, but I can comfort her.
“Dante,” she cries, “he’s cold. I… We have to get the ambulance here quickly or we’ll lose him. I can’t lose my baby boy.”
Dante changes positions and glares over at Michael in the corner, angry, frightful tears well in his eyes. “He’s going to be fine, mom. You’ll see, he’s going to be just fine. Wait outside for the ambulance, they’ll need to know they’ve come to the right house.” She doesn’t move. “Go on,” he encourages her.”
“Come on, Pooh bear, open your eyes for me. Please. I need you,” he sobs, “to open your eyes and tell me to leave you alone or to cuddle me. Do anything you want. Just wake up for me.” He strokes the hair from the paling face. Crying into his arm, brushing away fallen tears with his sleeve. “I’m so sorry I let him hurt you, so, so sorry. I should have protected you from him. I didn’t and if you hate me, so be it. But wake up so you can scream and shout at me. Wake up so you can blame me for this shit and I can try and make it up to you.”
I look at the younger me, both of them, actually. The little boy is beside me, his eyes fixed on me. Then I look at the dying version. He looks… dead. There’s no real life in that body. There never was much to say about him. But they seem to think there is. Mamma, Aria and Dante, they all cry for me, over me, wanting me to pull through. They blame themselves and each other. I can see the hate in Dante’s eyes, but it’s not hate directed at me. It’s at himself and Michael. That’s how he looks at Aria sometimes. I never really believed that he blamed her. But he does.
“Dante, the ambulance is here.” Aria’s voice carries a certain amount of relief to it.
“You’ve gotta live now, kiddo. Gotta get better and tell us all how badly we’ve failed you.” He presses a kiss against the cool forehead. Looking up when the paramedics walk through and he helps them to get me ready for the ambulance journey.
“Why didn’t I see this before?” I ask myself, cursing internally for not noticing sooner and maybe stopping the anguish I have put them through.
“We have something else to see,” he tells me. “Come on, now. Don’t dawdle.”
I follow him outside and we seem to go back into the white room again. For a moment he stops and looks around. Confused, and more than a little shocked, I watch him. His eyes seem to see things that I can’t. Neither of us says anything and then I hear it. Voices. They are shouting the same things from earlier. The heart monitor is still flat lining. I clutch my heart, feeling the shock palpitations every time someone shouts “clear”. Sighing, the younger me strolls through the white room and into the black one. Opening another door, he shoves me through, muttering something under his breath.
“Pooh bear, can you help me drag this one to the pool?” I look at where Dante is standing, clutching Aria’s feet. He’s younger, maybe eleven or twelve. I remember this. We had a lot of fun.
“Okay,” little me says, padding closer and gripping Arai’s left foot. Even I can admit I was a cute kid. All wide eyed and innocence, or so people would think anyway. On the inside I was anything but that.
“Love you, Luca,” Aria giggles.
“Love you too, Ari.”
They drag her over to the blow up pool, giggling all the way along. The smiles seem genuine. Even mine. It’s like looking at someone else. The person I was or used to be, could have been, maybe? I see the five year old me looking, he smiles at me and shrugs. I can’t figure out why he’s showing me this, but okay, I guess I’ll go with it, for now.
“Pooh bear, you’re the bestest little brother ever. Kay?” Dante pulls the small me into his arms and smiles, his face pressed against the crook of my younger self’s neck.
“You’re the bestest big brother ever. Love you, D.”
“Baby Pooh bear needs a cuddle. Doesn’t he?” Dante cradles the younger me in his arms, cuddling and loving on him. It’s a sweet sight to see. The love is there, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes.
“Hey,” Aria exclaims. “I wanna cuddle baby Luca too.”
She approaches them, not bothering to dust herself down. Dante lowers him so she can reach and they embrace. It’s oh so cute to watch. I start when he looks over at me and though he has a smile on his face, it’s there. The pain in his eyes is there. They don’t notice, or choose not to, but I can see it clear as day. He looks like he’s heading to the guillotine instead of being cuddled by people that love him.
“It was always there. Always.” The smaller me looks up when he says it, making direct eye contact.
I shrug, pulling my eyes away from him and back to the kids on the lawn. “I wish I could remember what it feels like. To be truly happy I mean. I should have been… But I really wasn’t. Not then, anyway, but before. I do remember being happy before all the shit.”
He smiles, his eyes don’t carry the smile. “We all have one moment where we’re happy. Even if we don’t remember it.”
“I wish… I just wish I could remember being happy. Even if it was only for a moment. But I don’t remember. I doubt it was real anyway. It was probably just a dream or something. I don’t do happy, not anymore.”
But looking at them again. I can see some level of happiness when he’s being spoken to. It’s not obvious how much of an internal debate is going on in his head, but I can see it. His eyes express a lot of emotion, mostly pain from what I can see. But it’s there. Tiny glimmers of something else. Something a lot lighter and somewhat happier. His smile is almost real, the corners of his mouth are naturally tugged into the smile, it’s not entirely forced.
“You don’t think some of that is real? Really?”
Shaking my head, I turn my attention back to them. “Come on, Luca, we should try and have some fun before dad comes home.”
Aria doesn’t argue like she normally would have. Instead they do as Dante says and get into the pool. The younger me is always clinging to one of them. It’s a protective instinct they seem to have because they are just as clingy if not more so. Dante seems especially clingy. Giving the smaller me sloppy kisses and big bear hugs. Whispering things in his ear, making him smile and even playing games with him. Aria does the same. Just not in the same way. But the love is the same between the two.
I close my eyes and sigh, the cool air hitting me in the face. Something changes. Before I open my eyes, I know we are no longer outside. I can smell the old rusting stench from the old house. I can almost taste the dry rot. Bile rises in my throat. What can I do? Hope. I can hope it’s not going back to a moment with Michael. My heart thrumming in my chest as I slowly open my eyes and expose Dante’s old bedroom. Slowly, I turn around and see the boy who has been showing me around, sitting on a chair near the bed. Dante is there, holding a ten year old me. Smiling and comforting the crying child.
“Don’t listen to what they say, Luca. You don’t need them, Pooh bear, you don’t need them,” he sooths, brushing away tears and sweat soaked hair.
The quiet sobs grow more intense, it sounds as if the child is drowning in his own tears. The memory is still fresh from when it did happen.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Pooh bear, so sorry.”
“Why do they hate me?” He cries into Dante’s chest. “I never wanted to make people hate us.”
The anger in Dante eyes shocks me to the core. I see the same lovable, gentle big brother I grew up with, looking like he wants to kill someone. I’ve seen him angry before. Hell, I’ve been there when he’s lost his temper in the past. But never have I seen him look so down right enraged. And the fact it’s because someone upset me makes it even more strange. I could understand him hating me for what I did. But then I look at the boy I was, the boy in his arms, and my heart breaks the tiniest little bit. I am looking at a defenceless little boy. Not a fully grown man who can handle himself, but a boy.
“Oh, Pooh bear, no one hates you,” he says carefully, “people are just idiots. They don’t really know you, so they judge. What matters is we love you and you’ll always have us.”
“It’s not just me they insult now, though. You and Ari put up with it.”
Dante shrugs, his larger frame covering me in a protective manor. “It doesn’t matter to us, we just want you to be happy. Please. We want you to be happy.”
“I’m never going to be happy again. Now when they hurt you guys,” the younger me murmurs into Dante’s chest.
I start to cry, sob really, when he keeps speaking and soothing me. It’s like someone has a vice grip around my heart and squeezes it tightly, restricting the blood flow to the rest of my body. I become faint, dizzy almost. I collapse onto the floor and sit in awe, watching and remembering the very conversation I had with Dante when I was younger. It hits a raw nerve to see the scene playing out again. Something inside me snaps open, but nothing comes out. I’m not ready for this.
“Oh, tesoro, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” I didn’t hear mamma come in, but as she crouches down beside the bed, I remember the moment vividly. The scent of her perfume and the smoothness of her hand against my cheek, it’s all so real.
“I’m sorry mamma. I’m so sorry.” The sob bursts from the little guys chest breaks my heart, brining tears to my eyes.
Dante opens his arms slightly, allowing mamma in. The two of them offer words of support and love. They never force me to look at them, nor do they make a big deal of the time of night I’m awake. They just lie there and comfort me. Shushing me when I cry and wiping away the tears when I finish. It’s nothing forceful or cruel. There’s no worry for time. They only worry about calming me. My heart thuds in my chest, sending me close to the edge again.
“No need to cry, tesoro. You have been so brave to now, so you have no need to cry. You are so brave. So, so, brave.” She wipes away the sweat from his brow. Smiling tenderly at her youngest son. “Many men hide who they are for years and destroy many lives. You are an open and honest child and that’s one of the many reasons we love you.”
“Ti amo, mamma.” The soft words come from the boy before soft snores. Mamma and Dante smile down at the sleeping figure. I brush away my own tears, pull myself up and step forward.
I place a gentle kiss on top of both their heads. They seem to feel or at least sense them because for a moment they close their eyes. I smile, wiping away the rest of my fallen tears and watch as mamma leaves the room, allowing Dante to keep a hold of the younger me in his arms. His eyes fixed on my face, my chest, rising and falling in my deep sleep. He whispers something to himself, almost like he’s caught in a trance. Closing my eyes I can almost remember his voice.
“I’m always going to do my best to protect you. Those bullies won’t know what hit them when they meet me. Never worry about people like them. They have no clue as to the type of person you are.”
He takes a deep breath. Again, he sounds like he’s almost in a trace saying it. “You are my little brother and I will always love you. No asshole can take that away from me.”
“I just wish the biggest asshole wasn’t in this house. Aria adores him. But I see you looking at him sometimes. You’re afraid of him.” He takes a moment and strokes the hair away from my face. “You won’t tell me that, though, you never were like that. Maybe it’s one of the biggest issues I have with him. He makes you fear him and I hate his guts for that.”
I feel a hand wrap around my own and a soft voice whisper in my ear, “keep your eyes closed. We’ll be there soon.” I almost feel the white room again. But knowing the sound of breathing has lessened is what makes me aware of us leaving the bedroom.
“Hey, what are you two doing here?”
Opening my eyes, I look down at the kid standing in front of us. He’s about six, maybe seven. He has brown stubble on top of his head, obviously going for the buzz cut and grey eyes. It’s his eyes that shock me. Grey eyes. Caden’s eyes. Caden. What’s Caden doing here? Why is he so damn young? He sees me looking and looks to the side, but he looks away just as quickly, blushing furiously. Looking down, I see it’s a mutual blush.
“I’m not sure. Living in the past mostly or trying to stop. Whichever you prefer.”
He face mars into a frown. “Huh?”
“I want him to like me more,” the younger me says. “So I’m bring him around to our past and well… His past and my future, I guess.”
Caden blushes and smiles, he quickly realises what he’s doing and blushes deeper. “Cool. I guess. Am I part of the past? Or… eh… future, I guess? Am I something to do with it?”
“I guess… I mean, I really don’t know. I haven’t lived it yet… But I kinda think you might be. The bigger me would know more about my life and the people in it than I do.”
Caden smiles. His whole face lights up and I see something that stops me short. My Caden looks at me like that every damn day. He doesn’t just do it now. He would have always done it. Isn’t that what people believe love is? Feeling secure and happy around the person more than anyone else. That’s the reaction I have to him, too. It’s not just him that sometimes wants to grin for the sake of it. When he’s around I’ve had to fight the urge to grin. That never happened before, before I just faked a smile and maybe the odd chuckle.
“Why is this happening to him. Luca’s the best part of me. The best thing God ever created as far as I’m concerned. He can’t die. He just can’t. It’s not fucking fair!”
Caden? I blink a few times, trying to clear my train of thought.
Don’t let him die. I don’t want to live in a world without him. He’s one of the big reasons I am who I am today. Nothing you or anyone else can say will convince me that he is not the only person I am supposed to love. Nothing at all. So, please give me my angel back. Please. I am desperate, sitting here and waiting just to hear if he’ll wake up or not and terrified of the response.
“Eh, Luca?” Caden’s voice breaks my trance. I turn to look down at him. He blushes and I feel something warming inside me.
“I kinda figured that was your name… Eh… I’m not sure what this is,” he says, waving a piece of paper around, “but this has the name Luca at the top and… Well, I thought this might be for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking the page.
Sure enough, at the top of the page is my name. But on the back Caden’s name and a recent date it written on the left hand corner. Curiosity fills me and I turn the page and start reading.
I might not be the smartest or the strongest or the bravest, even. But I know I’m special when I’m with Luca. You ask us to choose one person who means a lot to us, who inspires us and who we look up to. Well, for me, it’s Luca. I haven’t known him that long, and sometimes I wonder if he even likes me. But I have fallen madly in love with him and I can’t stop myself from writing this essay for him. He’s not a major historical figure, but he’s the person who inspires me more than anyone. I think if someone looked at him, they would understand why I feel this way about him. Luca is a soul that deserves all the love he is given, and more. He’s almost broken. I see pain and suffering when I look at him and it kills me. It really does pain me to think about someone upsetting the angel whose life has brightened my own. I think more people should aspire to be like Luca. I know for the rest of my life he will be the person I try to improve for.
“Was that for you cause I wasn’t sure, and I don’t wanna get in trouble for it?” Caden asks.
“Yeah, it was for me and it was very nice of you to give it to me. Thank you.”
That seems to make him happy because he blushes scarlet and looks down, shuffling his feet. “It was nothing. Just wanted to see if it would help.” He pauses for a minute and frowns, it reminds me so much of the boy I know and love. “Why do you look so sad?”
“I’m not sad, not anymore. Thank you for showing me this letter.” I say and look at the younger me, he smiles. Moving closer, he kissed small Caden’s cheek and they both blush.
“Bye, Luca’s.” He waves and then he’s gone through the door on the right side wall.
After he’s gone the noise returns. It takes a minute, but eventually I realise that we haven’t been gone long in the real world. If it was even a few seconds it would be a miracle. Standing for a while, I just pause and contemplate what to say or do. The smaller me looks up, eye hopeful and full of passion. He wants me to tell him how I’m feeling, but the truth is I don’t know how. Images of Caden and my family flicker through my mind. It drives me crazy, knowing things are as strange as they are. I’m almost dead, but I’m standing here, living, breathing and nothing seems to make me feel much differently.
But I do. I feel different. For some reason I sort of understand now. The things from my past were not my fault. They were not caused by me. It was all Michael and everyone knew it, but me. Mamma and Dante knew it before it happened, and Aria didn’t need convincing, she just knew. She loved me enough to not blame me.
“I don’t blame myself anymore. I know it was all Michael and… and maybe, just maybe I might be able to change some parts of my life. But I’ll do my best to get rid of the guilt.” I turn to face myself. “Thanks for… eh, well, everything, I guess. You’ve helped a lot.”
Smiling, he places a kiss on my forehead and I close my eyes. I drift back into the darkness, hoping things will be better soon.